Elena, a young psychiatrist at Pavia's San Matteo Hospital, endures grueling days in a psychiatric ward ravaged by an unprecedented emergency. Amidst overcrowded beds, screaming, and organizational chaos, she stumbles upon a disconcerting detail common to all the patients, something none of her colleagues or superiors seem to notice. Torn between clinical duty and a disturbing intuition, Elena begins to feel the weight of loneliness and doubt, forced to choose between remaining silent or pursuing the truth. A brief escape to the mountains, hosted by her friend Matteo, seems to offer her a respite, a return to normalcy, but even here, questions haunt her. In the quiet of the valley and the warmth of the welcome, Elena tries to rediscover herself, aware that the mystery she left behind may not be confined to the confines of the hospital. A chapter filled with atmosphere, between psychological tension and human reflection, which questions the meaning of care, observation, and the courage to see what others prefer to ignore.
A young psychiatrist faces the chaos of a collapsing hospital and a disturbing discovery that no one seems to see: a symbol etched on the patients' skin. Coincidence or denial of truth?
Stories. The Mysteries of Oltrecolle. Chapter 13: Marked by Silence
Elena left San Matteo Hospital shortly after eight in the evening, the warm light of sunset already fading across the tree-lined streets of Pavia. She'd quickly changed in the doctors' locker room, putting on a light-colored sweatshirt and jeans, and shoving the folder containing the day's notes into her bag. She needed to breathe, to walk, to at least partially untangle the lump that had been tightening in her throat since the end of her shift. Her hands still smelled of disinfectant, and the rumble of the trolleys in the ward rang in her ears like a dull, unmistakable echo. She exited the hospital gate, leaving behind the heavy brick and glass building, and slowly walked the distance to home.
The evening air, humid and cool, carried with it the scents of earth and blossoming lime trees. The streetlights filtered through the branches, casting irregular patches on the still-sunlit sidewalks. Elena walked with measured steps, her gaze lowered, lost in thought. She had worked as a psychiatrist for years, having seen full wards, emergencies, logistical difficulties, and staff shortages. But nothing had ever prepared her for what she experienced on that first day of separation: corridors crowded with beds, patients sprawled everywhere, makeshift camp beds in corners, screams and cries alternating with still, disturbing silences. She had felt a weariness that wasn't just physical: it was something more subtle, digging into her, leaving a feeling of impotence and, at the same time, urgency.
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